


TDOV with Carla and Pickles

by Skais



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Arson, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Gen, Marijuana, Metafiction, Revenge, Torture, Trans Day Of Vengeance, grave desecration, mentions of transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skais/pseuds/Skais
Summary: For Dethentines 2021, Day 3, "First Date or Anniversary".A very cathartic fix-it fic for the show's trans characters as they celebrate Trans Day of Vengeance!
Relationships: Pickles the Drummer & Canon Trans Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	TDOV with Carla and Pickles

“Alright so you’ve got your meds and everything?”

“Yes, Nathan”

“And you’ve got your Naloxone kit”

“Yep, never leaves my side”

“What about your TDOV disguise so regular jackoffs don’t know you’re in Dethklok?”

Pickles put on a trucker hat that simply read BEER. Carla rolled her eyes affectionately. “Really, buddy?”

Pickles grinned back at her. “It works, trust me” he turned his attention back to his doting frontman “Done.”

“And you’ve got lots of snacks and you’ve charged your Dethphone and Carla you’ve got comfy shoes to change into and maybe a jacket, right?” The stunning brunette favoured the nervous singer with a glittering smile. “We’re great, big guy, just eager to get the show on the road!” She turned to the rest of the band and waved her goodbyes, blowing a kiss to a blushing Murderface as she walked to the Dethplane.

“YOU SAID IT! I’m itching to do some bashing back, I’ve been waiting all year for this” Pickles reached out eagerly to grab Carla’s outstretched hand. 

“Waits!” Toki rushed forward with a gift in his arms. It was a large rectangular box, wrapped in matte black paper with a shiny red ribbon and bow. “These ams for you twos!”

Carla turned back to Pickles and they smirked at one another. With an almost eerie synchronicity, the pals tore into their present with gusto. The box opened to reveal two beautiful, custom made baseball bats, one for each of them. 

“Wes didn’ts wants you littles goofballs out there with regular bats, lookings all dildoes” explained Skwisgaar.

“As you can schee, the tech guysch did a great job” Murderface added. 

“Alright boys, I’m sure Carla and Pickles are very thankful for their new weapons, but they’ve, ah, got a schedule to keep, and I’m sure they want to be ah, on their way” Charles opened the door to the Dethplane for Carla, who graciously dipped her head and stepped inside.

Pickles flashed the band a hang-ten and stuck out his tongue goodbye. He stepped onto the plane with one last nod to Charles, who shut the door decisively. Once sitting comfortably, Pickles and Carla grabbed each other's hands and grinned hugely at each other. It was finally time. 

This was gonna be a Trans Day of Vengeance for the ages. 

As the piloteer took off to their first stop, Pickles cracked a beer and passed Carla a pamplemousse bubbly water. Sipping happily, she smiled at her dear friend as he laid out their carefully constructed plans for this most special of occasions. 

“Okay, first of all, I’m SO glahd to see you, fuck, it’s been way too long. We’ll have all the time to catch up when we’re vengeance-ing our way around the world. FIRST STOP: Tokyo, side of the road, bubbletea, sake. Nyeehh fuck you, funny man, who’s laughing now?”

Carla was inquisitive “Oh wow, Japan? Won’t that flight take like, a really long time?” Pickles was quick to dissuade any concerns about pesky things like travel times.“Not when yer flying DethAir, we’ll be there in _no time!_ ” Pickles took a chug from his drink, and then continued laying out their itinerary. 

“So from dere we hop back to the States and find those shitheads who ran the place where we met, really let them have it” Pickles was on a roll now, waving his now empty beer can around for emphasis as he spoke “AND THEN, once we’ve tak’n care of _that particular scum_ , then I’ve got a big fun surprise ending for you, pal, yer gonna lose it!” he finished, beaming at his partner-in-vengeance. It was gonna be a REALLY good day. 

When Carla and Pickles had met in rehab, they had been forced to recognize that year’s Trans Day of Vengeance as best they could from the inside. Starting fires, pissing on stuff, you know. But this year they were OUT and it was going to be _spectacular_.

Not long after the Dethplane alighted in Japan were Pickles and Carla on their way to the coordinates Charles had provided, toting a bottle of sake and enormous sealed bubble tea cup, respectively. Carla sucked up a tapioca pearl through her big straw as they practically skipped to their destination, hand in hand, cackling at easy, comfortable jokes shared between them. The caffeine was doing her good, pumping her full of warm energy, in anticipation of the fun about to start. Pickles was having trouble with his ceramic sake bottle as they moved, and resolved to get into it once they reached the unmarked grave. A garbage resting place for a garbage man. A shitty grave for a shitty guy.

Pickles finally got the bottle open and took his first swig of rice booze. “Here lies the crappiest roast comedian the world has ever known! Good riddance you racist, transphobic piece of trash” He raised his bottle to Carla, who clunked her bubble tea cup against it in a cheers. “I didn’t meet this asshole, what’s his deal?” she inquired. “Oh, he was the comedian at our surprise party for Toki, made a bunch of garbage jokes. Charles took care of him.” Pickles explained while he started to shimmy his pants down to piss on the grave. Carla sucked up the last of her tea and looked out over the Japanese highway, happy the first stop on their trip was such a success.

Back in the Dethplane, the two revellers were back on route to the USA. While Carla sipped a lemon-lime ramune, Pickles was rolling a genuinely massive joint. They were headed back to the place they met, that awful rehab place. “So I’ve got an idea for this one” Carla said “let’s burn the place to the fucking ground!” Pickles grinned widely and looked up at her “You read my mind, doll! I’ve already had Charles set up free housing for everyone who was in there, with peer support and counsellors and all that good stuff” He licked up the side of his masterpiece and twisted the joint sealed. 

Even though the trip back stateside was way shorter than it ought to be, Carla and Pickles had ample time to chat and catch up, getting themselves in the mood for more fun. 

They didn’t waste time once they got there. Pickles had sparked his massive cone as he exited the plane, and handed Carla the lighter when he was done. He stopped and took an enormous puff, letting the smoke coil out of his grinning mouth as he watched his friend play. 

Carla took her time walking around the building, dousing it with the flammable fluid from the red plastic can she was carrying. Pickles, always a good host, had indeed made sure the institution was completely empty of in-patients and the staff who were decent, just trying to make a living. The management, the guards, and the fucking psychaitrists, though, they were tied up on the front drive. While Carla did her tour of the perimeter, Pickles stretched out on the grass and enjoyed his joint, getting nicely toasted, looking at the bird of paradise flowers in the small industrial garden plot.

He was laying back and watching clouds when Carla’s beautiful face suddenly blocked the sun above him, smiling down. “All ready!” She reached a hand to her blazed pal and helped him to his feet. “Wanna do the honours?” Carla asked Pickles, who shook his head slowly, way too high to be in charge of the flame at this point. With an easy flick of the wrist, Carla lit the zippo and dropped it into the trail of gasoline she had artfully created. Confident in her work, she didn’t even look back to see the building be engulfed in glorious flame. Pickles, though, was really enjoying the show. They left the fuckers to watch their precious prison burn, from what was probably a safe enough distance. Maybe. 

One more quick jaunt in the Dethplane and they had reached their final destination. Pickles and Carla were itching for the final act. 

Showtime.

They found him in his studio, obsessing over a rhythm guitar part. The two friends could see his balding head as he hunched over, recording yet another imperfect take. 

Carla kicked in the door and Pickles lunged at the startled man. “Bet you’re surprised to see us, huh? Her especially?? We know just who you are, don’t worry” he twirled his new custom bat in his hands like a baton. 

“You should know better than that. You think jest ‘cause you dreamt us up yer in charge?? How **DARE** you make me say those things, laugh at those jokes. It’s time to pay, you monster.” In one swift move the drummer had knocked their creator’s guitar clattering to the ground, grabbed him by the neck, and pinned him to the chair with his baseball bat pressed across his chest.

Carla stepped out from where she’d been standing, keeping quiet, seething with rage while Pickles restrained their final piece of prey. 

She took a deep breath, and smacked her bat into her open palm with a sickening thud. “We’re not just _trans_ , you cruel, lazy bastard. We’re _toons_ , motherfucker. Do you even KNOW what that means?” Her voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Once you make us up, we’re around for good.”

Pickles yanked back on the bat, tightening his hold, and screamed “YOU DIDN’T EVEN DRAW HER AGAIN AFTER THE TASER “JOKE”, you _sick fuck._ ” 

Without a word of warning Carla swung hard, cracking the jaw of the oh-so-deserving cartoonist. She graciously offered the worthless mess now crumpled in the chair below her further explanation. “Do you know what that’s LIKE for a trans toon? To be the punchline of one more sick fucking joke, one more piece of evidence that the whole world laughs when we’re hurting, and that we deserve to disappear afterwards???” 

She stepped back and lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and leaned closer to his face, blowing smoke right in his leaking eyes. “The fans saved us. You don’t deserve them. They can make a feast out of the pathetic scraps you toss them, and they brought me back from the dead.”

The broken man finally spoke, bloody spittle drooling past his chipped teeth as he croaked out a weak “ _....who are you…?_ ”, his head lolling into his chest. 

Carla grabbed him by the chin and forced his eyes to meet hers. “I’m your worst nightmare. I’m the trans woman you couldn’t kill, the gay you couldn’t bury. And now you’re _fucked._ ”

She took one last puff on the cigarette, before turning the butt in her manicured fingers, the cherry still glowing. Smiling sweetly, Carla took a half breath in, and then purposefully pushed the burning tip deep into the soft flesh of Brendon Small’s right cheek. 

His scream was the most beautiful music the two pals had ever heard. Pickles and Carla grinned at each other, Pickles unceremoniously releasing his hold on the bat so that their now punished producer could slump to the floor.

The last thing poor little BrenBren heard before the door slammed shut behind the two friends was Carla's twinkling, satisfied laughter. 

What a nice anniversary with a dear friend, with family, really, she thought. This past year was a good one, a healing year. Carla was content, she was safe, and she was thriving. She squeezed Pickles’ hand as they boarded the Dethplane for home. “This was the best TDOV ever, buddy. Same time next year?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, and felt very satisfying to write. Thanks for reading :D


End file.
